Faking it with #41

by Piper Rayne

  Rather than grabbing the woman straddled around me, I finish my whiskey and hold my hand up for the redhead to bring me another one. “I said fine and went back to my parents.”

  But that’s a lie. My initial reaction was the squeezing of my chest and disappointment.

  Aiden shakes his head.

  “Listen.” I turn away from the woman grinding on me. She’s not even mildly titillating, and if I didn’t think it would give credence to everything my friends are saying, I’d tell her to get off. “I’m not the noble guy like you, okay? I like to have fun. And I’ve fucked up enough already in my life. Hell, my daughter doesn’t even have a mother. If Lena doesn’t believe in me, then she’s not fucking worth it.”

  The table goes silent for a moment. I grin, proud of myself and the point I made. It shut them up.

  “Did you ever prove to her that you had?” Aiden asks. “The first sign of a problem and you shut down and ran.”

  Fuck Aiden. I fucking hate Aiden. Even if he is one of my best friends. I think about that night and the moment she ran out of bed and into the bathroom—my heart locked up tight and I turned stone cold to any emotion. Sure, I have feelings for Lena, I told her as much, but she’s doubting me just like my dad always has.

  “Words are words, man, actions are actions,” Aiden says. “We could all sit here and be like we’re gonna win the Cup this year and I’m gonna be lead scorer, but no one is gonna believe it unless we’re training every fucking day and showing up out there on the ice. You want her to have faith, but let’s remember, she’s the one who got you out of most of the jams you put yourself in. She saw you with the women, saw your anger on all the videos from your brawls. She’s already had to deal firsthand with the person you were.”

  I sulk back in my chair, feeling as though Aiden fucking scolded me like my father. Except he has a point.

  “You’ve never had to fight for one damn thing except to play hockey,” Maksim says. “And look, you’re here. You did it. You proved your dad wrong.”

  I sip the new whiskey the redhead placed on the table and motion for the blonde to get up off of me.

  “If you want Lena and a future, prove her wrong. Don’t just admit defeat. Fight for her,” Aiden says. “Show her you’ve changed with actions, not words.”

  Tweetie brushes his finger under his eyes as if tears were shed. “Man, you guys are awesome. I’m inserting myself as the fourth whether you agree or not. Now, can I be next?” He raises his hand.

  “Next for what?” I ask.

  “Next to be told what the hell is wrong with me. Why am I afraid to propose to Tedi?”

  We all crack up, but my friends’ words have gotten me thinking. I proved my dad wrong once. Now I have to prove Lena wrong.

  I’ve always dreaded Christmas. As soon as the songs hit the department stores after Halloween, my gut twists. The bells ringing, the families walking hand in hand downtown, people with arms overflowing with packages. It’s great if you have family and money and security. Not so much when you’re at a soup kitchen getting a coloring book and crayons. Once you’re ten, that’s about enough of that. You’ve figured out your lot in life.

  On years my dad was sober, he’d always get me something. A shirt or sweater maybe. Always secondhand and usually not my taste, but it was fine. That’s what I told him. And it was. The fact he spent any money on me made me feel guilty.

  Now, I’m at the Jacobs’ because we’re one big happy family and stupid me planned the photo shoot before everything went down with Ford and me.

  Their penthouse is overflowing with red and green. Gold and silver. Two trees. One in the family room and another on the terrace. I stare at the one in the family room in all its perfection. There are no family ornaments that have been handed down over the years. Mrs. Jacobs clearly had a design in mind with matching ornaments of a specific color scheme. It’s beautiful, but I’ve always loved the trees filled with homemade ornaments that I saw in the movies. Probably because I never dreamed that anyone decorated trees like the department stores until I first came here.

  “What happened to all the ornaments you made in school?” I ask Ford.

  He’s relaxed on the couch, dressed in the ivory cable-knit sweater I picked out and a pair of slacks. I’m in a simple green dress, and we put Annabelle in a red dress. The photographs will be taken here in the Jacobs’ home.

  “I don’t know. Probably in the garbage.” He sips his drink.

  He’s been odd this trip. Not too talkative, but not as cold as he was before.

  “I guess both of ours are together somewhere.” Mine would hang on the fridge or on the window until I eventually tore it down and threw it away myself. Or it got left behind when we got kicked out because my dad hadn’t paid the rent.

  “When is this guy coming and please tell me it’s not that Gavin jackass again?” He tugs his collar. “I can’t believe you convinced me to wear this.”

  “It is Gavin, and he’s a friend who lets me spin things. And please, you’ve worn worse.” I pick up the apple cider Bennie made. The man might love Hawaii, but he prepares the best cider and hot chocolate.

  “You do know he likes you?”

  I sit in the chair across from him as Morgan comes in with Annabelle. Her smiles are addictive nowadays. For a little girl growing up with two adults at odds, she’s darn happy about it.

  “She’s getting mean with the hair pulling,” Morgan says and hands her off to Ford.

  “That’s my girl.” He gives Annabelle a high five, although he has to actually lift her hand to do it. Still learning.

  “I swear she got a chunk.” Morgan scowls. “And she does not like the dress. Keeps pulling at it, just like her dad.”

  “The other day, one of my strands was wrapped around her finger and turning it purple. I check her every time I put her down for naps now.”

  Ford turns to me. “You didn’t tell me that.” He sounds offended.

  “We’re not usually together. And your hair is too short to wrap around her finger so…”

  Morgan looks at us for a moment and I realize my misstep. “What do you mean you’re not together? Like, physically you don’t see one another?”

  I look at Ford for him to answer. This is his family.

  “Lena’s giving me the cold shoulder,” Ford says only to Annabelle.

  I scoff. “Try the other way around.”

  “What do you expect?” Ford asks. “You made your point.”

  I head into the kitchen, not in the mood for his dramatics. But I’m only four footsteps away before two hands land on my hips and usher me out onto the side terrace. He shuts the door behind us.

  I wheel around. “It’s freezing.”

  “Your next job could be as a weather girl.”

  I narrow my eyes, wishing I could transport him to another planet. “Seriously, what is your problem? I thought we were on the same page.”

  “Well, we’re not.”

  “What?” I wrap my arms around myself to warm up.

  “We’re not, okay?” He walks toward me, running a hand through his hair. “I think you underestimate me, and it pisses me off. My father did it my entire life and the fact that the woman I… like is doing it now… it makes me mad, but…”

  My heart lurches, wanting to jump out of my chest and rest in his hands. I wish I could trust what he’s telling me. “But?”

  “But I get it. I get you’ve seen me at my worst and to take me at my word wouldn’t be wise.” He puts his hands on my shoulders, stepping forward before dropping them. Then he pushes my chin up to look at him. “But I’m going to fight for you. I’m going to show you that I am a man worthy of you.”

  My breath catches in my throat. “Ford…”

  “No, Lena. You’re who I want.”

  “I want you too. It’s not that I don’t. At the same time, I’m so scared.”

  “Exactly. I’m going to prove to you that you don’t have to be scared.”

  I shake my head
. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’ll find some other woman who won’t have so many issues.”

  He laughs and bends forward. “Get ready, Lena Boyd, because I’m about to woo you.”

  Then he presses his lips to mine. I want to wrap my arms around his neck. Plaster my body to his and beg him to take me to his room. Or hell, take me right here on this snowy terrace. But he backs up.

  “Don’t start coming on to me.” He smiles. “Trying to seduce me.”

  I open my mouth, but there’s a knock. I glance over Ford’s shoulders and see Gavin and Morgan, Annabelle in her arms, standing at the glass door.

  “Showtime,” I murmur.

  “For you maybe. It’s easy for me to show how much I want you.”

  We walk toward the door and he reaches around me to open it.

  “Gavin, I’m so sorry. We were just discussing—” I start.

  “You were kissing, and please tell me you don’t have rules to not kiss in front of Annabelle. That’s lame,” Gavin says.

  I laugh. “No, not at all. We just needed a moment.”

  Gavin doesn’t smile as his eyes linger on our joined hands. Seriously, if this is about his crush again, he needs to stop.

  “So I was thinking by the tree or the fireplace. Maybe one of us on the floor playing with Annabelle? I brought her a new toy. Maybe Morgan could bring it out and Annabelle’s beautiful blue eyes will light up.” I turn to Gavin to see what he thinks.

  “Man, you think of everything,” Morgan says.

  “I’m back!” Imogen yells from the foyer. “Where’s my niece?”

  She rounds the corner, still taking off her gloves and coat before tossing them on the back of the couch. Then she snatches Annabelle out of Morgan’s hold. Annabelle starts crying.

  Morgan laughs. “She doesn’t like you.”

  “She does. I’m her aunt.”

  “That doesn’t mean she has to like you.”

  Morgan and Imogen continue to bicker, so Ford pulls Annabelle away, holding her so she stops crying. But she grabs at her shoes, crying some more.

  “You’re going to mess with the pictures, you two, and I want this goddamn Connecticut-style ivory cable knit sweater off before my skin catches fire.” He tugs again on the collar.

  “It’s not a straitjacket,” I mumble.

  “Might as well be. This isn’t me.” Ford scratches his stomach, lifting the sweater up. Sure enough, his stomach is completely red.

  I gasp. “Ford!” I lift it back up. “You’re completely red and angry.”

  “Isn’t he always red and angry?” Imogen says dryly.

  “His skin. Look.”

  Gavin is busy setting up the lights and preparing for the photo shoot. Besides being a freelance journalist, he’s also a great photographer, so he agreed to take these pictures himself to keep things low-key and so fewer people traipse through the Jacobs’ home.

  “You need to go change.” I take Annabelle from Ford, holding her to my hip. “Just put on something nice.”

  “No, it’s fine. I can wear it.” He scratches again.

  “Are you allergic to something?”

  “Not that I know of. Let’s just take the damn pictures.” He looks at Gavin. “Where do you want us?”

  “By the tree is good, but—”

  “Just snap a few. She’s happy right now. We don’t have all day,” Ford demands, coming off arrogant and better than.

  We go over and stand by the tree.

  “Oh, what a beautiful family,” Morgan coos, but I think she’s making fun of us.

  “You look like one of those families from Connecticut. The straitlaced, no-fun couples.” Imogen laughs.

  I turn to Ford mid-snap.

  “Try to face the camera, Lena,” Gavin says.

  Ford turns to me. “What?”

  I look at Gavin and back at Ford. “This isn’t us. Let’s change. We don’t have to be perfect. We’re not perfect and I don’t want us to be perfect.” I set Annabelle down and unbutton her dress from the back. “Morgan, can you change her into Ford’s jersey he had made for her? She loves wearing that like she knows it’s his number. And just those leggings and socks. No shoes.” I look at Gavin. “Sorry, we’ll be back.”

  “Lena, it’s fine. I’ll wear it and so will Annabelle.” Ford chases after me as I head for the staircase to go up to my room.

  “No. It’s not us. I think I was trying to make us who I thought the world should see, but that’s not us.” I take the hem of his sweater and pull it up and over his body. “Oh, Ford. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “A little pain for you to get what you want isn’t a big deal.”

  My shoulders fall and I stare at him long and hard. “Thank you. But go change into something comfortable.”

  We all reconvene ten minutes later. I change into jeans and a fitted red sweater. This is how we would hang around the house.

  “It would be so cute if you were all wearing Ford’s jersey,” Imogen says.

  “Oh yeah, I don’t have one,” I say.

  Ford enters the room in a button-down with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. His hair isn’t as gelled as before and he’s barefoot, wearing a pair of jeans.

  “You never bought your fiancée your jersey?” Imogen smacks Ford on the back of the head as he passes her.

  “You want one?” He looks at me as if surprised that I would.

  While all the wives wear their husbands’ numbers at the game, I felt foolish buying one myself at the gift shop. “No. I’m fine.”

  “I can get you one.”

  “Can we take the pictures now?” Gavin interrupts.

  “Sorry. Yes,” I say.

  We pose at the bottom of the tree. I purposely keep my ring front and center. Then we take pictures where we’re playing with Annabelle, and others of Ford and me staring at one another. Those are the hardest. By the end, I actually felt as though we’re a little family.

  While Gavin packs up, Ford takes Annabelle into the kitchen with Morgan and Imogen, Bennie demanding Annabelle be the first to taste his new applesauce recipe.

  “Thanks so much for doing this,” I say.

  Gavin organizes all his equipment and the doorman comes up to fetch it and bring it down for him. I chat with Gavin for a bit while all this is happening and then walk him out.

  “There are rumors,” he says. “I think you should know.”

  “What do you mean?” My forehead creases.

  “Rumors that this is all fake. That Ford is using you. That maybe you’re part of it too. There’s word that Otis Sandersville might have some interest in Jacobs Enterprises and this is all very convenient.”

  I haven’t heard any rumors—at least nothing has come up from my searches and Google alerts—but I guess when you’re the story, no one tells you. “They’re wrong. We’re very happy.” I hold up my left hand and smile.

  His eyebrows scrunch. “You’ve been seen without that ring more than you have with it.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. We’re a couple and we’re very happy.” I feel sweat form on my temples.

  He nods and rocks back on his heels. “Then answer me this… why haven’t you two been seen together since the party where you were introduced to Otis Sandersville and his wife, Penny?”

  Ugh. It’s only a matter of time before these rumors make it from Manhattan’s upper crust into the press. “I’ve been to his games, and besides that, we’ve just been busy. I am planning a wedding after all.” Note to self, make some wedding plans publicly.

  He puts his hand on my arm. “If you ever want to talk—coffee, dinner, whatever—I’m here for you.”

  “That’s real big of you, Gavin.” Ford enters the room and makes his presence known. He stalks over and kisses my cheek. “Baby, Annabelle wants you.”

  “I should go. Thank you again, Gavin.” I hug him briefly, feeling uncomfortable now. I walk to the edge of the foyer and hide just around the corner so
I can still hear them.

  “Let me call the elevator for you,” Ford says.

  “Thank you again for the opportunity to have the exclusive,” Gavin says.

  “You’re welcome. A friend of Lena’s is a friend of mine until they sneak around trying to dig up shit that isn’t true. I’m head over heels in love with Lena Boyd, and if you want to print that go ahead. Otherwise, I suggest you don’t go throwing accusations around. I know you’re desperate to be in my fiancée’s panties, but sorry, they’re all mine.”

  I gasp and cover my mouth. The elevator arrives, and I wait to hear the doors close and Ford’s steps walking back my way before I step out in front of him.

  “What did you say?” I ask, although I already know.

  “The truth.” He sidesteps me and walks back to the kitchen.

  Head over heels in love with me? Nice line, Ford.

  I’m still thinking about Ford’s words to Gavin and him saying he’s going to woo me when I arrive at the facility my father lives in. No one knows me here, mostly because I don’t come very often. Which is horrible, I know. But every time I come, Dad and I sit in silence while he stares out the window of the community room they wheel him out to. Or I end up talking to other visitors more than Dad. Then again, maybe I’m still bitter about the fact that he didn’t much care for my well-being growing up and now I’m responsible to care for his.

  I sign in and show my ID to the staff member before heading down the hall. I still remember the way to his room, and I stop just before I reach it, gripping the small plant in my hands.

  Then I smack on a smile and round the corner, knocking on his door. “Dad?”

  He’s lying in bed with his helmet on. His head turns in my direction, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he recognized me. For a fleeting second, I saw his lips tip before they didn’t. Then again, right after the accident, I saw a lot of things the doctors said weren’t there. They said it was in my head because I hoped so desperately that he’d get better.

  I sit on a chair close to the bed. “Merry Christmas.” I put the plant on the window ledge that overlooks the garden where other families visit their loved ones during the warmer months.